Casebook Xmas: The Case Of The Little Priest
by TalepieceUK
Summary: From The Casebook Of Madame Vastra. On the final leg of their journey home, Madame Vastra and Jenny Flint find themselves chasing a an unassuming little priest.


TITLE: The Case Of The Little Priest  
AUTHOR: Talepiece  
RATING: 12 cert.  
PAIRING: Vastra/Jenny  
SERIES: The Casebook Of Madame Vastra  
CONTINUITY: This story follows on from _The Case Of The Cursed Ship_.  
DISCLAIMER: The bit where I plead for clemency because I'm only playing at being a writer.  
CREDITS: This story is based on GK Chesterton's first Father Brown story, _The Blue Cross_.  
NOTE: I've played a little fast and loose with timelines here as far as the building of Westminster Cathedral (not the Abbey) and Father Brown himself are concerned but I hope you'll forgive me both.  
Thanks again for sticking with the Casebook series through this Year Of The Endless Disaster. I can only apologise again for the erratic posting schedule.  
Thanks too for the lovely feedback via FFnet and the emails via the TP site. Please keep an eye on the site or Tumblr for news of the next volume (probably, hopefully, maybe in two or three months time). There is a possibility of an addendum to this story some time before the New Year but I offer no promises on that.  
A very happy non-denominationally-specific holiday season to one and all. Here's hoping 2016 is better. Cheers!  
POSTED: December 2015

* * *

While their journey home was much anticipated by Madame Vastra and her beloved companion Jenny Flint, the presence of an unassuming Priest and an ecclesiastical item of some value caused much consternation on their return. Luck might play a part in every investigation but a sharp mind will always make its own good fortune.

Jennifer Strax Vastra-Flint.  
London, 1950.

* * *

Madame Vastra and her companion and colleague Jenny Flint stared at the jagged hole in the centre of Marble Tea Rooms' window. It had been a large sheet of frosted glass with the establishment's name emblazoned upon it. Now the name stood proud above the damage and the proprietor stood irate beside them.

Both women stared at the window for some time, barely hearing the owner's ranting. Jenny turned to Vastra and shook her head, "I'd reckon that's another clue, Madame."

Vastra smiled, her teeth showing a brief flash of white through the heavy lace of her veil, "I believe you may be correct, my dear."

* * *

The two women had boarded the RMS Etruria from Pier 40 at the foot of Clarkson Street on a cold Saturday morning. Neither were sad to be returning home, though Jenny was pleased to be able to say that she had seen rather more of New York than the beginning of her stay might have indicated.

Once the evil little relic that had caused so much trouble for Mr Henry Wilcox and those poor souls upon the Star Of Mauritius had been suitably dealt with, they had allowed themselves a little time to recuperate. Blessedly in a rather better establishment than they had first taken as their refuge. From there, newly shod and clothed and with several large meals in their bellies, Jenny had insisted that they explore a little of the place.

Conclusions were mixed, it had to be admitted but both were ready to return when Vastra declared that even the additional funds that Archie had wired from London were running low. With the last of their gold and other monies two First Class tickets on one of Cunards' premier vessels had been procured. First Class upon Madame Vastra's insistence, though Jenny had not protested too strongly.

The Etruria proved itself every bit the height of luxury that the owners claimed and only Archie's rather cryptic missives on the subject of Lucy Flint and their home on Paternoster Row seemed likely to trouble their enjoyment. That was until a telegram had been delivered to them at the last possible moment. A harried steward bought it to their cabin almost as the ship set sail.

'blue cross onboard Stop priestly courier Stop flambeau in pursuit Stop please assist Stop sir leopold'

Vastra had read the message then dismissed the Steward with a generous tip that made Jenny decide to handle gratuities for the rest of the voyage. She took the telegram when it was offered and read it twice before studying her companion.

Vastra stared at one of the portholes barely seeing New York drift slowly away from them. Jenny waited for a moment more, then fussed about the room setting their things around the spacious quarters to her own exacting standards.

It was some time before Vastra spoke and then, "We appear to have been commissioned."

"Blue Cross, Madame?"

"A precious stone of some kind, I assume. Perhaps one of ecclesiastical import?"

"The Priestly courier?"

"Just so. And," Vastra smiled knowingly, "before you ask, my dear, we have met the famous Flambeau before. You, indeed, have bested him."

"Me?" Jenny sat on the edge of one of the two large beds and considered, "I've bested plenty, if you don't mind me saying so."

"Quite the contrary," Vastra said and sat beside her lover.

"But I can't recall a Flambeau chap."

"We were never formally introduced. At least not in his true self. Mr Flambeau is an American, though one resident in Europe both for his freedom and, as you might say, for the rich pickings. Having attempted a rather too daring theft rather too early in his career he relocated there some years ago."

"Oh aye," Jenny laughed, "and he thought us over there were easier marks?"

"Possibly. Until he met one Jenny Flint."

Jenny blushed, "Why Madame, you've become quite the old flatterer," she kissed her lover's cheek gently and then said, "But get on with it and tell me, eh?"

"James Blount, my dear, he of the harlequinade."

Jenny sat back and remembered their first evening at Colonel Adam's home, their first Christmas together. So the tall gentleman who had insinuated himself into Ruby Adam's life as her uncle was this Flambeau. It was certainly a bold plan and he might have gotten away with it, despite the attempted intervention of the local Constabulary. Might, had it not been for the misfortune of their own proximity.

"So we know who we're looking for then. He was a tall chap, shouldn't be that difficult to find him. And a Priest, he should be pretty obvious on a ship like this."

"Possibly on the latter but Flambeau is famed for his ability to impersonate and disguise, my dear. There is every possibility that only his height might give him away. And even then," Vastra hesitated, "is he upon this vessel or would it not be safer to wait until the Priest makes land once more?"

And so it had proven. There was no sign of anyone of Flambeau's prodigious height onboard. Indeed, it seemed to be an unusually short assortment of passengers and crew with Vastra herself looming over most of their fellow travellers. Even the Priest had been rather harder to spot than they had expected, travelling as he was on a lower ticket.

It was Jenny's growing impatience with the other first class passengers that finally won the day. She and Vastra had been taking afternoon tea in the first class lounge. Alas, so were any number of people who found the presence of a maid, even a lady's maid in their midst a great scandal. Vastra had been livid and Jenny feared that not all of the richer set would reach Liverpool. Part of her quite liked the idea but she worried that Vastra might get indigestion, which would not do on a sea voyage.

Instead Jenny had declared that they would take tea with a better sort of person and they had moved their favour to the second class dining room. It was there that they came across a Priest reading quietly in a corner with a cup of tea and a biscuit for company.

He was a diffident little man, the essence of a village Padre with a round face as dull as a dumpling and eyes as dull as the sea they traversed. On the surface he showed such a moon-calf simplicity that both women were uncertain if they had found the right man. He seemed little better suited to the world in his speech and once Jenny had charmed him into conversation he spoke freely of his current task.

"A great piece, Madame, Miss Flint," he had said in his Norfolk accent, "blue stones in a cross of silver. I am very honoured to be tasked with its care, as you can imagine."

I can imagine you loosing it to a quick hand, Jenny thought but she had said, "You must be very proud, Father, but it might be best not to say too much to too many people, eh? Best not advertise what you're carrying, case there's anyone who might be thinking of stealing it."

The little Priest had laughed at such a suggestion, his dull eyes glowing for a moment before he reverted to his usual manner. Over the following days Jenny had come to know him well and marvel that she would like a man of the cloth so much. They shared a belief in the soothing properties of tea and a preference for sweet things. The Priest expressed a great love of aniseed balls and regretted eating all of his on the outward journey, while Jenny pilfered the chocolates that were offered to first class passengers after their evening meal and shared them with him the next afternoon.

Each day she learned more of his work in the pleasant world of his small country parish and before that, his time in a much more troubled area of Hartlepool. There he appeared to have ministered to any number of ne'er-do-wells and associated riff-raff, though Jenny was unsure if he understood quite how ne'er-do-well they might have been. She learnt too of his desire to see the sight of what would become the mother church of Roman Catholicism in Great Britain during his brief stay in the capital. Though he never spoke in particular of where or to whom he would hand over the Blue Cross itself.

It would be a miracle, Jenny thought on more than one occasion, if he managed to retain the item long enough to reach his task's completion. He was, amongst all of his simplicity and kindness, quite the clumsiest creature either woman had ever met. If it could be dropped, lost or broken, the little Priest would manage it. It was the cause of much consternation for the ship's crew and a great deal of mirth for his fellow second class travellers.

Throughout, Vastra remained a staunch if sometimes uncommunicative third. She was ever vigilant for the presence of a tall man but there was never a sighting of anyone reaching Flambeau's famed height. Not on the ship and not even on the train journey from Liverpool to St Pancras Station in London. Jenny had insisted that the Priest join them in first class this time and he had continued to chatter away about his reason for taking such a 'monumental and important trip'.

Jenny despaired for the little man but Vastra maintained that they must answer Sir Leopold's call and keep him and the Blue Cross safe. From the Padre's more lengthy descriptions it was obviously a very fine piece. Deep blue sapphires set in a large silver cross on a chain of some intricacy. The piece had been on display at The Cathedral of St. Patrick for many months but was required back in London in preparation for the eventual completion of Westminster Cathedral.

The two women appeared to have everything under control until they disembarked at St Pancras and there was a great deal of confusion regarding their luggage. In the bustling and arguing that ensued even Vastra's keen and elevated eye lost track of the little Priest in his plain black clothing. By the time their luggage was on its way to Paternoster Row along with a missive to Archie, their new friend was long gone.

They stood on Euston Road on a cold, murky London day and both women were glad of their warm travel coats and gloves. Jenny looked up and down the street, trying to spot the black ecclesiastical garb amongst the mass of humanity that hurried hither and thither. She looked up to Vastra who gave her a faint shrug in the negative.

"We could return home I suppose," Jenny said, "perhaps contact Sir Leo and get more details."

Vastra hesitated for a moment and then said, "Or perhaps a cup of your soothing balm might restore some order to our thoughts?"

Jenny stared up into the veiled face, surprised at the sudden offer of tea, "If you like, Madame. The Midland's just down the way."

They walked through the bustle of Euston Road, pleased to have a chance to reacclimatise themselves with London life and the distinctive London air. The crowds thinned a little as they passed the British Library and walked on towards the Grand Hotel.

There, divested of coats and politely lead to a banquette in the restaurant, the two women were about to sit when a shout went up from a few tables down. Jenny turned to see a gentleman of the middle classes gesticulating at his table. She looked up to Vastra who whispered, "Some issue with his tea."

"That doesn't bode well," Jenny said and settled into the seat beside her companion.

They were both on their feet once more when one of the hotel staff said something about the Priests in a voice just a little too loud to be appropriate. They hovered close to the altercation and found that the businessman was pointing out the difference between the salt cellar and the sugar bowl with some animation. He was a tall man with a plain face that burned red with his growing ire.

The waiter had been joined by an under-manager in a neatly pressed suit of some quality. He expressed the hotel's abject apologies and listened with a sceptical air to the waiter's tale.

"- two Priests, a little one and a much taller chap. They were at this very table not ten minutes ago, Mr Talbot, and it must surely have been them."

The poor man was pleading for his job and Jenny didn't fancy his chances given such an outlandish explanation. Outlandish but undoubtedly helpful to their cause.

Vastra stepped forward and spoke firmly, "My good man, pray tell me if these Priests of yours gave any mention to their destination?"

All three of the men were taken aback by the interruption but Vastra commanded respect wherever she went and the grovelling waiter answered immediately.

"They did mention going on through the Gardens, Madame. The Cartwright Gardens, off Marbledon Place."

With a nod of thanks Vastra turned and left the restaurant with barely a pause to retake their coats. Jenny trotted at her heels, marvelling at their good fortune.

They were silent as they left the hotel and returned to Euston Road before turning off to Marbledon Place. There were far fewer people here and the pavements still showed signs of the previous night's frost. It was slippery under foot and Jenny took Vastra's proffered arm gratefully.

As they approached the entrance to the crescent-shaped park Jenny said, "How did you know then?"

"Know what, pray?"

"Don't play the innocent with me," Jenny squeezed Vastra's arm, "You'd never suggest tea unless you had a plan."

"In truth, my dear, I do not have a plan-"

"But?"

"Ah, but," Vastra emphasised the word, "it occurs to me that our Mr Flambeau may best be caught out by a little luck."

"From what you told me on the ship, nothing else can get him. Did he really escape by paying for an unstamped letter?"

"Indeed and from the great French police detective, Valentin himself. Also, at various times, with the aid of a telescope, a pair of nail scissors and if rumours are to be believed, by setting an abandoned house alight."

"Blimey," Jenny said, "So you're going to catch him with a bit of good fortune?"

"My dear," Vastra glanced down at her lover and there was humour in her tone as she said, "do we not always?"

"And bloomin' hard work, Madame; don't forget the bloomin' hard work."

"I could not. By a great many things, it is true, but in this case I believe we must place our faith in fortune and a harmless little Priest."

Jenny harrumphed, not entirely satisfied with the answer but willing to allow Vastra to play out this not-a-plan of hers. The Padre had demonstrated a great likely for tea and the Midland was the first place that two Priests might stop on their way to...

"So where are they going?"

"That we will hopefully learn when we find them," Vastra said and earned herself another harrumph.

They were walking through Bloomsbury now and were surprised to come across a scene of some chaos in what was normally a quiet sort of area. At the entrance to Russell Square a laundry handcart had been overturned. The young man in charge of the cart was attempting to right it under the malevolent eyes of two older gentleman, one in a butler's uniform and the other in a Constable's. They offered no assistance, though the policeman was holding an armful of what looked to be dirty linens.

"Why ever would a Priest cause such a fuss?" said the butler in a haughty tone.

"Bleeder was carrying a great mess of parcels and the like and he managed to drop the lot right in front of me! Oh, beggin' your pardon ladies," the young man added as he saw Vastra and Jenny approach.

"Priests?" Jenny said, "One tall, one short?"

"Aye, Miss, one tall and one short," and he pointed off across the square, "the tall one was a bit ahead and the little'n hurried to catch him. Carrying too much and not taking a blind bit of notice of the rest of us!"

"Thank you young man," Vastra said and took up Jenny's arm once more. They cut through the park and on to Montague Street past the British Museum, both women now keenly aware of any possible clues.

"There's a bit more of that good luck of yours," Jenny said.

"Let us hope that it holds out, my dear," Vastra said but privately she wondered.

They walked on a little way and then Jenny spotted something on the far side of the street and said, "Apples and walnuts, Madame."

"My dear?" Vastra said in confusion. She was already being lead across the street to a small fruiters that sat in the middle of a short run of local vendors, "You are hungry?"

"No, look," Jenny indicated the stalls that were neatly laid out before the shop window, "Apples and walnuts."

There were indeed boxes of those two foods, each marked with a sign written in a careful, if naive handwriting. Alas for the vendor, those two signs were in the wrong box, each marking the other item.

Vastra looked around for the owner and eventually concluded that the angry looking man standing a few yards away was in fact their man. His face was a dark scowl, his hands set angrily on his hips as he glowered down the street towards Shaftesbury Avenue.

"Excuse me, Sir, but these cards are the wrong way round," Jenny said to get the man's attention.

He turned a burning eye towards them, stomped back to his shop and glared at the cards. After a long moment, he swapped them back and then said, "It must have been that Father fella. Don't expect it from that sort, do you?"

"Expect what?" Vastra said.

The man sobered a little in the face of Vastra's veiled stare and gave a polite nod as he said, "Well, Ma'am, you'll never believe it but-"

"Two Priests, one tall and one short, passed by and the little one caused some degree of chaos thanks to being somewhat overburdened?" Vastra said as the man gawped at her in surprise.

Jenny gave her a little tut and said, "Madame and I are trying to find these Priests, Sir, would you know where they went?"

"That way," he pointed back from whence he came, "reckon they're going down by the theatres." The two women thanked the man and moved away but he called out after them, "For the love of God, get that little one out of everybody's way!"

They went on and as they passed the Baptist Church with its rose window, found two policeman in the middle of the road. Both were rubbing their hands vigorously against the cold as they stared down the street in some bemusement.

"Officers," Vastra said as she approached the men, "Pray, have you seen two Priests of late?"

The men turned as one and stared up at the imposing figure, even more bemused by the situation.

"That we have, Madame, that we have," said one.

The other waved a hand about them vaguely, "A tall one who seemed a little put out by the little one's clowning."

"He was a bit of an imbecile, if you ask me."

"Drunk as a skunk, I'd say."

The two men traded significant looks before returning their attention to Vastra and Jenny.

Jenny forced back her grin and said, "Struggling with his parcels and whatnot, yes?"

"He was that, Miss, just about shed the lot in the middle of the street there while he tried to eat an apple."

"And some walnuts too. Made quite a song and dance about picking everything up."

They thanked the Constables for their time and continued their pursuit in the direction that the men had indicated. They passed the Lyric Theatre and talked for a few moments of the ongoing success of Miss Irene Wallack, the unfortunate victim of one of their earliest cases. Then on past Scotland Yard towards the Embankment, eliciting shivers of ill memory at the terrible sight that had greeted them there the previous winter.

They were approaching the Clock Tower and though both women were beginning to suspect the Priest's destination, both were growing concerned with the lack of any further clues. Jenny looked up at Vastra and saw the firm set of her shoulders. She retook her arm and leaned in for a moment but was drawn away by a crash of some sort and a loud cry of anger.

The sounds came from a side street and they turned off the main thoroughfare towards St James Park. They hurried down a stretch of shops and eateries, looking around for any hint of the Priests. None could be easily seen in the cluster of humans and animals but it was not so hard to discern the source of the cry.

Madame Vastra and Jenny Flint came to a halt outside a pleasant little tea room and stared at the jagged hole in the centre of the window. It had been a large sheet of frosted glass with the establishment's name emblazoned upon it. Now the name stood proud above the damage and the proprietor stood irate beside them.

Both women stared at the window for some time, barely hearing the owner's ranting. Jenny turned to Vastra and shook her head, "I'd reckon that's another clue, Madame."

Vastra smiled, her teeth showing a brief flash of white through the heavy lace of her veil, "I believe you may be correct, my dear."

"Priests, was it?" Jenny said innocently.

The proprietor finally halted his tirade to stare in some shock at the young woman. His dark gaze moved slowly up to the much taller figure and his eyes widened noticeably. He was a short, pudgy man with a severely receding hairline and his entire head appeared to glow red with anger.

"One tall, one short?" Vastra added.

After another pause the dam broke and the man rushed on through, "A Parson! A Parson of all things and to do it so brazenly. Pays the bill and pays too much; leaves his parcels behind and has to come back; acknowledges the mistake but says bold as you like, 'That would be to cover the window'. Even apologises for it; apologies and then leaves; only to pick up a stone from the street and throw it right through the window. Right through the window I say!"

"Indeed you do," Vastra allowed and then, "And their direction of travel?"

The proprietor pointed wildly down the street and said, "You're Madame Vastra, aren't you? Criminals, are they? Disguised as Priests? I knew it! Knew they couldn't be proper Parsons. I'd never want to kill a real one but I'd happily -"

He continued his rant even as Vastra excused them and they made off in the direction indicated. They were hurrying now, pushing their way through the crowds and causing not a little consternation of their own. The sky was darkening, the clouds above growing steely and ominous and the change in atmosphere gave their hunt a greater urgency. Vastra was liberal with the use of her elbows.

She was some way ahead when Jenny spotted something that halted her progress and troubled the people around her greatly. She glared up at the annoyed face of a man who pushed past her with a snarl but otherwise ignored him.

"Madame!" she called out and waited until Vastra returned to her side, "Look."

Vastra stared at the small confectioners that was nestled between two much larger establishments and then looked to Jenny in some irritation.

"My dear, is now really the time to stop for chocolate?"

Jenny smacked her arm with some force but forbore to swear. Instead she dragged Vastra inside with her. There they took up most of the space in the tiny shop.

There was a tall, angular young woman behind the counter but fortunately no other customers. The girl looked from one woman to the other with a startled expression before bobbing a little curtsey to Vastra.

"Would you be here for the parcel? I'm sorry, I've just sent it off with the lad." She appeared quite upset by this turn of events and her gaze was worried as she studied first Vastra's veil and then Jenny's open face. "I wondered if the Police might come but I didn't want to hold on to it and the lad was back from his deliveries so I sent him straight off with it."

"It, Miss?" Jenny said.

"A parcel about this size, Miss," the girl's hands flapped about her to indicate the size of a small package.

"Belonging to a Priest?"

"Aye, one of them other sort. Not our lot, I mean, the other ones that you see more of these days. Oh," the girl glanced up at Vastra nervously, "I mean no disrespect of course, Ma'am."

"And none was taken but, pray, be good enough to tell us what has occurred as quickly as ever you may."

"This little Priest comes in and buys a big bag of aniseed balls, Ma'am, and then comes back and asks if he's left his parcel. Well I was sure he hadn't but he insisted on leaving an address - somewhere over Ludgate Way, I reckon - and some money to have it delivered, should I find it. And what do you know, there I did find it not a moment after he'd left," she finished with a jab over the counter to show where the offending parcel had been discovered, "I do hope I did right?"

"You did just lovely, Miss," Jenny said and thanked her profusely for her assistance before asking after the Priest's direction of travel.

Vastra was already outside and Jenny was about to follow when she stopped. A quick glance over the well-stocked counter had her mind made up and she purchased a bag of barley sugar from the smiling girl.

Outside, Vastra had just dispatched two messengers who she had apparently collared on their way to other clients. Both appeared somewhat shocked by the interruption but had the good sense to go about the Madame's duties first. Jenny grinned and offered her companion the crumpled bag.

"My dear, really!" Vastra admonished but took a piece of the confectionery, "I thank you."

"Reckon we could both do with a bit of something. I feel like we've been following these two for days."

"We are close, I feel sure, but we really must hurry."

They had bypassed The Mall and the Abbey and hurried through Petty France and on to Palace Street. Vastra cut a swathe through the mingled humans and Jenny followed gratefully in her wake. There was no sign of the Priests now and both women began to suspect that they had turned off some other side street.

"Madame?" Jenny said.

"We must hope that they will reach their destination before Flambeau strikes."

"You're sure he doesn't go in for the fisticuffs? I mean, a big chap like that could flatten any man the size of our Padre. Most of all our Padre!" she added and hurried her stride.

Still they went on until they found themselves in what had been Bulinga Fen and moving towards the area where the old prison had been cleared for the first abortive attempt to build the Mother Church in London. It would be a little time, Vastra was sure, before another attempt could be made but Jenny's little Priest was quite certain that it would succeed.

Why he was so adamant to visit at this particular moment and with a man who must perforce be a complete stranger to him, she could not imagine. Or perhaps she could and her ideas about this man's assumed naivete were correct. If so, he was a truly remarkable sort of human and Vastra would commend him for his forethought.

That was, she realised as Jenny looked around them frantically, if they could find the men and it was not to late. Vastra rose to her full height and surveyed the area, spotting two black-clad figures in close consultation at the far end of the site.

They approached carefully, Vastra holding Jenny back as they skirted the two men's position and sidled as inconspicuously as they could within earshot. The little Priest was with a man who appeared not much taller than he until a second glance discerned the deliberate stoop and the bowed head. A tall man who was trying hard to appear much less imposing. Exactly the clever trick that Flambeau was want to use.

The two men had been talking in close but apparently friendly proximity for some minutes and Vastra's sharp hearing caught snatches of a discussion regarding the nature of reason. It seemed an odd thing for men of the cloth to converse upon but the little Priest was quite adamant one point or another.

Their discourse continued for some while before there appeared a sudden tension in the set of both backs. The man they knew to be Flambeau seemed to grow inches in those few moments and the little Priest grow smaller still. Yet the change in their attitudes did not appear to be the cause of some threat or other from Flambeau but rather the calmly spoken words of Jenny's friend.

The taller man stared in mingled surprise and disbelief before drawing a small item from a hidden pocket in his priestly garb and studying the wrapped package with suspicion. The little Priest continued to smile his amiable smile as he talked on some topic that appeared to stiffen Flambeau's back yet more.

Again Vastra had to hold her companion back and Jenny gave a hiss of annoyance at the gesture, "Madame! I know you say he won't hurt him but we can't let this Flambeau get away with it. Even if he can't get away with the jewel," she added.

Vastra's teeth flashed white once more and she said, "I am glad you have realised that."

Jenny swatted at her arm, "Course I did. Honestly what do you take me for?"

"A most ingenious and pugnacious creature, my dear, but one occasionally apt to strike first and deal with the consequences later."

There was every chance of another swat to her arm - or worse - Vastra well knew but instead Jenny's face broke into a beaming smile and she merely gave a muffled bark of laughter before returning her attention to the increasingly troubled conversation before them.

"Alright then, oh Great Detective, what do we do now?"

There was no need to respond as events took hold with such rapidity that for a moment neither woman knew which way to look. Ahead, the taller man had unwrapped the package in his hand and suddenly threw it back at his companion in disgust. Vastra caught the little man saying something about his former ministry. Flambeau stepped back with an expression of such bewilderment on his now contorted face that it was almost comical. The Priest pointed directly towards the two women and both turned to stare at Vastra and Jenny, who in turn stared back.

There was a frozen moment and then the screeching of Police whistles filled the area as a number of dark blue uniforms rushed towards the men with the familiarly harried Inspector Brown and young Detective Constable Fletch following close behind. The Inspector was barking out orders in a notably wheezy tone.

Then came the clattering of horse's hooves and a Hansom rounded the corner on one wheel and was dragged to a shivering halt. Master Archie dropped down before they were stationery, ignoring the driver's cry of warning. He ran towards his mistresses but was redirected towards the ensuing melee by a flick of Vastra's hand. Her other hand maintained a grip on Jenny's shoulder, one not at all appreciated.

"He'll get away, look!" Jenny snarled.

As indeed it appeared. Flambeau, now standing to his full height and a most intimidating figure, had cast three of the officers aside with little more than a sidestep and a shrug. The local constabulary were acting in a manner so ineffectual as to be capering and the poor Inspector was quite aggrieved by it all. Fletch was doing his best to deny the mastermind his escape, aided by Archie's arrival. Yet the taller man was fleet of foot and mind and Vastra feared there was little hope of success. Jenny of course would want to pursue the creature but Vastra felt sure that they were both in no state to do so.

"Madame!" Jenny hissed, her hands flailing about her in impotent rage, "Look!"

Flambeau had already gone from sight, a magician's toy suddenly snapped from view. The Inspector and his men were standing around like fools. Fletch hurried about looking down one alley and another for a few moments but was called back by his superior who was already deep in discussion with the Priest.

Archie ambled over to them as if nothing untoward had occurred. His top hat was still cocked at its customary angle and his hands once again planted in his trouser pockets.

"Well, well, the wanderers return," he grinned, "and about bleedin' time too. Ouch!" he added as Jenny's annoyance found purchase on his ear, "And nothing's changed neither."

"Either, Master Archie. And I thank you for your swift response to my call."

Archie touched the brim of his hat and gave a comical little bow, "At your service, Madame," before dancing out of Jenny's reach. He looked back to where the officers were getting a dressing down from the Inspector and tutted, "Reckon we could have had him. With just a bit of common sense thrown in."

"You are quite right," Vastra agreed.

"That's why Madame's got an idea to give you a bit of help, Archie."

"Help?" the lad appeared quite put out by the thought, "Ain't I good enough?"

"You are indeed more than good enough," Vastra said, "but I believe some assistance by way of intelligence gathering and such might prove beneficial."

Archie considered for a moment, "You mean a little band of us sneakin' about?"

"Madame was thinking of calling them The Paternoster Irregulars," Jenny added.

"Actually, my dear, I believe that was your idea."

"And so it was, Madame," Jenny said as if her lover had passed some sort of test. She made to say more but was stopped as Vastra indicated behind them.

Jenny turned to see Inspector Brown accompanying the Priest as they crossed the area towards them. The group met but before pleasantries could be exchanged the Inspector excused himself hurriedly. His face burned with the acute embarrassment of professional pride sharply diminished.

"He's not 'appy," Archie laughed.

"He most certainly is not, young Sir," said the Priest before smiling his open, bland sort of smile at the women, "Madame Vastra, Miss Flint. You appear to be some way off course."

"We have been lead something of a merry dance, Father, of that I am quite sure."

"Ah," he said and for just an instant there was a flash of mischief in his pale eyes, "I rather fear that I might be to blame there."


End file.
